


phantom

by orphan_account



Category: Kakos Industries (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, its 5am and i wrote this while listening to the episode so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 03:10:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13755039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There's a sort of all-consuming anger Corin doesn't feel very often.





	phantom

**Author's Note:**

> shrug (im not 100% caught up don't yell @ me)

There's a sort of all-consuming anger Corin doesn't feel very often. He just doesn't have a reason to. As CEO, he isn't personally involved with that much of the companies dirty work. The worst he's had to get pissed about in ages is when the Department of Screams and Yelps made him put down their latest, and most traumatizing creature.

So maybe he jumps at the opportunity to be angry at the mysterious black box. But if he jumped, then he was jumping down a black hole.

==

The titanium axe is heavy. Almost so heavy that he can't cary it, in fact, though nobody can know that. He has just enough strength to bring is down on the box, letting gravity do the work, and then eventually adding the full force of his weight. 

Adrenaline hisses through his veins and his vision is dark red as he throws the axe at it, a sharp ball in his chest fueling him. Getting some sort of primal release at the brutality, Corin lashes out and kicks the box. It slides, harmlessly, a couple feet back.

He doesn't know how long he's been down there. Time is only measured in the weariness of his arms, in the faint shame of being so unhinged. 

Finally, he stops. Sweat drips from his brow and with one hand he wipes it away. The rage has petered into nothing, and he leans weakly on the axe, secure in the knowledge that there isn't anyone to see or care about his behavior.

With one glance at the box, his anger returns. The dinky, half-rusted metal shell is completely and utterly unharmed.

Corin grapples for the axe again, if not to break it than simply for the release of destructive energy, but he can't. His fingers slip on the hand grip and his arms couldn't lift it if he tried. As suddenly as that, he is down on the cold floor. The axe clatters down after him, a sound a finality.

Then, the only sound is his breathing, heavy and ragged. The part of him responsible for making sure he at least gives off the impression of being dignified has checked out for the night, and he lays upon the ground, just listening.

When the little footsteps approach him, he is dizzy. Not quite sure when he became so dizzy, it becomes disorienting, making him fall back to the ground when he tried to push himself up with his arms. In the darkness is a child's face, pale and knowing. She tilts her head at him, and a hand reaches out of her dark cloth, coming to rest on Corin's shoulder.

Maybe it's the exhaustion-- no, it's definitively the exhaustion, but when she says, "It's not time yet," it feels like a ghost come to take him away. Relieve him of his duty, and yet usurp him.

Then her cool hand retreats, making her way over to the undamaged box. Chubby fingertips slide over the ridge where the top meets the right side, and then disappear back into her child's clothes. Like a shadow fading back into the darkness, she leaves.

Finally, last bits of his strength sapped out of him, Corin lets his eyes fall shut.


End file.
